The Lost Library of the Seven Sages
by LadyLora13
Summary: The tale of Marcello's journey after Neos and his bizarre quest to rediscover his place in the world. The former Templar Captain's past actions will be revealed. What crimes has he covered up? What secrets has Marcello kept? And where is he anyway? And whatever did happen to those supposed heroes?
1. Chapter 1

_**"The Goddess has laid out a path for each of us to follow. It is our choice to follow the proper path, or to stray from the path and into the reach of darkness."**_

The sun was setting, but light still shone down mercilessly. Even in twilight heat simmered on the horizon of the wasteland. On Neos the sunlight and heat could twist the very shape of the earth; turning rock formations into giants and the desert into a never-ending march. Neos was an island, but to a person lost in its expansive wilderness it was a dry, cruel wasteland made of nothing but stone and hungry monsters. A holy island, in name alone, for the Goddess showed none of Her mercy here.

Marcello stumbled over loose sand and rock. With his right leg broken keeping his footing was a challenge. His blood had left a heavy trail at first, but as Marcello had continued his march the bleeding had lessened. Now there were just faint red dots left in the sand that the wind quickly covered up in its relentless howling. Marcello was weak, but he was not going to let his injuries bury him. He used what little magic he had left to cure the worst of his wounds. His depleted magic could only do so much, and he was still left with a broken leg and almost useless right arm.

The sun, setting in the west, was not the only one burning a path through the sky. Above the very center of the world, above where once the Goddess statue's eyes had looked upon Her creation, was Rhapthorne's citadel.

The citadel had torched the sky and the once blue expanse had burned red. For hours the sky had pulsed with the sickly dark color of blood. Monsters had lifted their heads in celebration and howled; people had cast their eyes down and wept. Every being knew the world was gripped by a dark new master. Only recently had the red pulse abated, but the twilit sky was still stained by Rhapthorne's touch.

Marcello could feel the citadel's presence. It burned with a power greater than the sun or the moon. Like the eye of a malevolent god, it looked down at him and laughed at his struggle. Marcello longed for the moon to rise, for its cold gaze to wash over the landscape and provide relief; but the citadel would remain and the moon would be overshadowed. Marcello continued putting one foot in front of the other; he wouldn't look back at the sky. He would keep his eyes forward.

Marcello would rest, regain his strength, heal his remaining injuries, and continue. That was his plan. He knew of the Templar outposts surrounding Neos. He could find supplies and shelter in one of them. Marcello knew Neos. He had seen and memorized maps. He would find a place to rest, there was no doubt. Marcello dragged his hurt leg forward. He would make it.

The sun had completely set by the time Marcello finally saw an outpost. The horizon had played tricks with his eyes, making every shape look like the same blasted rock after rock. It was the golden Templar insignia on the door that told him he was close. When he saw that familiar icon he used his remaining strength to rush to the small building. By some bizarre case of luck he hadn't encountered any monsters so far, but he knew such luck wouldn't last through the night.

Marcello pushed the door inward. Instead of opening softly the wooden door fell to the ground with a heavy 'thud.' Marcello covered his face and coughed as dirt and sand flew in the air. He kept his hand over his mouth as he looked around what remained of the outpost.

The building had been little more than a shack before, like every other. Templars used these outposts only when going back and forth from ships to the holy temple. They were supplied with food, water, herbs, and hammocks for rest and re-supplying. Some spears and swords were kept under lock and key in case of attack. Other than what was required little else was kept in each outpost. They were hardly as decorative as the standard Templar and captain quarters.

This outpost had been laid to waste. Marcello could see through the thin light that the place had been raided by monsters. Sacks that had once held food and herbs had been emptied and left in a torn heap. The only furniture had appeared to be a table and a few chairs, and their broken remains were scattered across the small room. The only hammock had been stolen along with every weapon. The weapon's safe had been blown apart by a monster's spell, and only a few dull blades remained as evidence.

Marcello walked across the small space and fell against the far wall. Monsters wouldn't return here. They would move on to whatever was left of Neos. He closed his eyes. He could rest here and head for the shore once he awoke.

There must be some emergency boats still stationed around the island. He knew there had to be. Unless, like this outpost, monsters had reached the boats too. Then there would be no way for Marcello to escape from Neos.

_"No… I will find a way…" _ Marcello willed himself to fall asleep. He had to keep his mind clear and focus only on his goal: leaving Neos. That was all that mattered.

But had there been soldiers here when the monsters struck? Had the monsters torn apart and killed them? Had soldiers been left to defend themselves in hopeless battle with only a few scanty weapons against Rhapthorne's hordes? The thought struck Marcello and his right arm blazed with pain. There were no bodies or blood stains on the floor. No soldier had been stationed here. No Templar on Neos had died by a monster's claws.

_"Such a death would have been merciful." _

All the soldiers stationed in Neos had died with the collapse of the Goddess statue. The unholy burst of Rhapthorne's power had caused the entire colossal statue to break apart and fall into an abyss. That abyss had taken every soldier, every noble, every servant, in the inner sanctum into its empty embrace. The town surrounding the temple - the inn, homes, the High Priest's quarters, had collapsed. All of Neos had been drawn into the abyss. Every worker, parent, child, traveler had been killed. Marcello did not fool himself thinking of the few survivors. Who could survive that and still live? Any remaining Neos citizens would fall into despair. All of Neos had fallen into that massive black hole carved into the earth by Rhapthorne's hand.

"Not Rhapthorne_… _me._" _

Marcello fell into an uneasy sleep. In the night sky the moon shed a weak ray of comforting blue light.

* * *

The child sat silently at a desk. The chair was so large his legs dangled above the floor and he struggled to sit up properly. His hands gripped the edges of the book in front of him. One candle was lit on the desk, but light still came through the round window above his bed. The day had grown long and his eyes were heavy from reading, but he turned to the next page. The book probably weighed more than he did. Getting the book on the desk had been a task in of itself. He fought back his exhaustion. Nothing would keep the boy from his purpose. He would not rest until he finished reading the book, day or night, from beginning to end.

The boy jerked suddenly when he heard the door open. He wasn't expecting anyone in his room. He had shown up for dinner and done his chores. The monks shouldn't be bothering him. They knew he was studying for something important.

The boy relaxed when he heard the visitor laugh. "Calm down, Marcello. It's just me," the visitor chuckled. His purple robes rustled as he laughed. Hearing that voice made Marcello's tired face turn up in excitement.

"Oh! …Um, excuse me, Abbot, for my room's untidy appearance! Your Holiness!" Marcello leapt from his chair and nearly knocked it and himself to the floor. He landed clumsily and hurriedly dropped to a bow.

"No need, no need. Your room is much nicer than I expected. Not even the Templars keep their rooms so neat. Apparently they think cleanliness is lost to all but the holy ones! Believe me!" Abbot Francisco laughed again and swept the small boy into a hug. Marcello couldn't help but smile too. Abbot Francisco could make anyone smile.

"I came here to speak with you, Marcello," spoke the Abbot as he set Marcello back on the chair. He placed a hand on the boy's small shoulder.

"About what? I mean – Yes, Your Holiness?" Marcello cringed. He had been so blunt! Any priest would glower at you if you were disrespectful in any manner; especially a priest trying to train foolish young monks. They'd give you a smart smack to the head.

Abbot Francisco was kinder than any priest or teacher. He understood the occasional slip-up. Marcello was young too. A boy among soldiers and old men.

The Abbot looked into Marcello's eyes and spoke softly, "You plan on taking the exams to join the Knights Templar. I came here to talk to you about that."

Marcello was silent. The Abbot sighed and continued, "The tests are not easy, as you know. And in joining the Templars you give up the life of an ordinary man. You cannot leave the Abbey and join a new family like the other orphans. You will have to follow the guidelines set down by the Templars of old. You will have to live a chaste life and learn to wield holy weapons in battle. You will have to live a life in duty to the Goddess. This life is similar, but much more difficult than a monk's. Do you fully understand what that means, Marcello?"

Marcello nodded. "I will answer to the Captain and Abbot, sir, and follow their orders. My life will be in full service to the Goddess. I will wield my sword in Her name, I swear!" answered Marcello.

Francisco patted Marcello on the shoulder. "Ah, such determination. You're much too small to be holding a sword. The weight would tip you over. Don't get ahead of yourself now."

"I can hold a sword! I've held a Templar's sword by myself before." Marcello truly had. He had snuck into the basement and admired the swords hanging on the wall. He had successfully picked one up. Holding it had made his choice feel more real to him. The sword had been the heaviest thing he had ever held.

"Really, now? Then I have the world's youngest and smallest Templar soldier! Ready for battle!" Abbot Francisco laughed but shook his head. Both of his hands rested on Marcello's shoulders. "I meant to ask you if you're fully prepared to make this choice, Marcello. Many like you have said yes and still failed. You could always be a monk and help the Templars."

"No, Abbot Francisco, I am going to become a Templar. I'm not going back on my word." Marcello looked straight into the Abbot's eyes. The Abbot was old, but his kind brown eyes shone with an energy Marcello had never witnessed before. Nothing could escape his gaze. Abbot Francisco's eyes brought out the truth in those around him.

"Not even a second to question yourself? You don't want to be a monk, a priest? How about a trader? Adventurer? Or how about a traveling salesman?"

"I am going to be a Templar!" shouted Marcello. His voice rang through the tiny room. Francisco's eyes widened at the powerful sound of the child's voice. It would be no surprise that monks, priests, and Templars would say - for years - that young Marcello's words echoed throughout the entire abbey.

There was only a slight pause. "I knew there was no question about it. I was just making sure," the old man sighed and stood up. Something about Marcello's tone had shocked him. Just a small shock, but still the child's tenacity could be alarming.

The Abbot would have to teach Marcello to control his stubborn streak He already had an idea on what to teach the boy. Francisco reached inside his robe and pulled out a golden chain. "That's why I'm here, to give you this."

In the Abbot's weathered hand was a beautiful golden ring placed among a chain. It shone with its own silent brilliance. The sunlight from the window caught the chain, and the entire necklace was aglow. Marcello had never seen a necklace as spectacular before, and the abbey was full of rosaries and other pieces of expensive jewelry. Marcello knew this was unlike any piece of jewelry that a simple priest wore.

"It's beautiful, Abbot…" said Marcello, too awed to touch the ring. The ring had what seemed to be tiny wings on both sides. The tiny delicate wings held the ring onto the chain. Marcello could not stop staring into the small ring. It was so brilliant and pure… It was as if the ring had some incredible power. A power that left Marcello enthralled.

"This old thing?" Francisco threw back his head and laughed. "This is just some old piece I found when I was cleaning out my desk! I have no idea what its name is. I don't recognize the design at all." The Abbot stopped chuckling. He cleared his throat and carried on in a grave tone, "I do know the abbot of the former abbey valued it greatly. It was one of the few items that survived the plague. One of the few items that wasn't lost or burned."

"The former abbey? Where all those Templars and monks died?" Marcello had heard the rumors about the old abbey. Monks and Templars whispered that it was cursed and haunted. Marcello yearned to know the truth and explore it, but he had yet to find out where the former abbey had stood. This ring was once a part of that legendary place? The thought excited Marcello.

"Yes, it's a very precious thing to have survived that sorrow. A friend of mine looked at the ring once and told me it was a holy artifact worn by…hmmm… worn by…" The Abbot was suddenly lost in thought. "I can't seem to remember the name… It was worn by someone important. A great priest? Or was it a prophet?" Francisco shook his head in dismay. "When you get old your memory fades on you, Marcello! Never forget that!"

"Yes, sir," answered Marcello. "But why are you showing me this ring?" Marcello was mesmerized. This ring held a sacred holiness that even the Abbot didn't fully understand! Perhaps if he held it Marcello would become smarter and stronger than any Templar before him! Marcello's imagination raced with visions of being a tall grand Templar with this ring around his neck. Maybe, one day, even Templar Captain!

"I'm giving it to you, my boy," said Abbot Francisco with a smile. Then with a flourish he threw the chain around Marcello's head and adjusted its length. He placed the ring gently against Marcello's chest. "It is yours now."

"M-mine?" Marcello was unsure of how to react. The skin on his neck could feel the chain. He was suddenly sensitive to the gold metal's touch. Seeing and feeling the necklace felt like a dream.

"Yes, it's yours now. Think of it as a good luck charm for your upcoming tests. You'll need it. The Captain is very strict and he won't go easy on you. He told me so!"

"But… Abbot if it was the former Abbot's then it's yours…" Marcello was thrilled, yet still he hesitated to take the gift. He hadn't thought he would have it so easily. He thought perhaps he would gain it after he became a Templar, not now. Not when he was just an ordinary, powerless boy.

"You're the youngest to ever be considered as a possible Templar recruit! You deserve this gift, Marcello. You have earned it."

"I have?" the boy asked his green eyes dancing happily from the praise.

"Remember this gift, Marcello," said Abbot Francisco, his gaze looking fondly upon the child. "This necklace will help you on your path."

Then the Abbot of Maella Abbey quoted the very scripture the young boy was studying, "'The Goddess has laid out a path for each of us to follow. It is our choice to follow the proper path, or to stray from the path and into the reach of darkness.'"

Marcello grasped the ring with his right hand as he listened to the Abbot's words.

"Your path is a very special one, Marcello. I have given you this gift to help guide you."


	2. Chapter 2

Marcello awoke abruptly. Shielding his eyes against the rays of the afternoon sun, he tried to recall his dream. An old familiar face swam at the edges of his mind. He felt a stab of pain. His left hand clutched at his chest. His necklace was still there; the golden ring was safe. He let out a heavy sigh. The ring brought forth the clarity Marcello needed.

He had slept longer than he had planned to. He had wanted to leave the outpost at dawn. The day was already halfway over, and the small outpost was sweltering in the heat. Marcello could smell his own sweat and blood perforating the stale air. Marcello gripped the wall and tried to stand up, but he quickly fell back to the dirt floor. Pain shot through his broken right leg. Healing his wounds took top priority for the moment.

Focusing Marcello brought forth a soothing green light to his left hand. He placed his hand on his hurt leg and began to concentrate. Healing spells had never come easy to Marcello, but he knew enough to mend broken bones and heal certain injuries.

Marcello could feel the spell working. There was a dull pain as bones grew back together, muscle tissue re-attached, and fractures began to mend. In only minutes Marcello's leg was completely healed. He stood up and put weight on his leg without resistance. He would have full use of both legs again.

Finally able to move normally again, Marcello began his search through the abandoned outpost. Monsters had torn the place apart and taken everything of value. There would be no herbs left, no magic water, and most vital of all, no food. Marcello knew an old soldier's trick to keep hunger at bay. Using just a small portion of healing magic he could keep his stomach full for a few days.

It wasn't a smart strategy. Soldiers would keep fighting feeling strong on the outside, but inside their bodies would be starving. Many foolish soldiers had died on the battlefield because they'd been too dependent on magic. A packed lunch would have been smarter for them to bring along than a magic staff. The trick would only keep Marcello going for a week at most. More than a week and he would be tempting death.

Marcello wasn't searching for food or herbs. Even in the ransacked building there would be one item left untouched: an item monsters couldn't lay a single scaly finger on. Using his left arm to knock away what remained of the broken table, Marcello found what he was looking for left abandoned in the dirt.

The table must have been used to hold the food and supplies, and to Marcello's luck, the table had also held the vials of holy water. Six dusty, but still usable, vials of blessed water lay in a pile beneath splintered remains of wood. Marcello kneeled to the ground and reached for the closest vial.

Magic could heal cuts, cure poison, mend broken bones, and fool hunger, but no magic could cure thirst.

Marcello wrestled with the glass vial. Holy water is not meant for drinking. The vials are made of glass with a stopper at the top to hold the water in. Once the stopper is removed the small openings at the top of the glass allow the holy water to be sprinkled on clothes, people, items, whatever you want blessed. The tiny holes at the top would prevent a person from drinking the water in one gulp. The water would have to be shaken out of the vial rather like a salt shaker.

But Marcello had other plans for these vials of holy water. He popped the cork off a vial and the cork flew into the air in a celebratory arch like a wine casket being opened. Then using a rock, Marcello broke the glass cover of the vial and carefully removed the glass from the top. With the holy water completely open, Marcello took the vial and poured the liquid past his dry lips.

The water was warm but Marcello swallowed the life-giving liquid down greedily. He used the same trick to open the next four bottles. His thirst hadn't been completely quenched, but his chances of surviving the next few days had greatly increased. He stood up with the last vial in hand.

Marcello looked down at what remained of his Templar uniform. Every inch of fabric was caked in sand, his boots had been ruined by the hard ground and harsh wind, and his gloves had been turned into useless weights on his hands. With a hint of regret, Marcello threw his gloves off; the air on his bare hands a surprising relief.

His right arm was still injured. He couldn't pin-point the exact cause of trauma to his arm. He could move his fingers but trying to lift or bend the arm brought a wave of pain.

It was of no serious concern. Marcello was ambidextrous. If need called for it, he could wield a sword in his left hand. His right hand could still hold small items.

Marcello adjusted his belt so that his sword now hung at his right side. His Templar sword had seen the least damage of his belongings. Perhaps a trip to the blacksmith to fix an edge or two, but the sword was still just as deadly in his hands as the day he had earned it. He would keep the blade in its sheath until he would need its steel. Marcello looked for a spot he could place the last vial of holy water. The holy water's presence could keep weak monsters at bay, and until he reached the shore he could make good use of it: for both monster determent and nourishment.

Marcello's hand strayed to the hidden sheath of his dagger. He hesitated. The dagger was no longer there. Of course, he already knew that. Marcello had left it at Savella Cathedral months ago. Months that floated in Marcello's memory through a thick haze. His dagger was gone, buried and lost. No one would be able to retrieve it, not even him. His dagger was gone and it would never be returned to its sheath.

Marcello pried open the sheath and dropped the vial of holy water inside. Through an awkward angle the holy water could stay fixed to his belt.

Marcello left the small shack that had sheltered him through the night. He didn't look back as he hurried through the desert surroundings. With his leg healed and his body rested, Marcello could survive the wasteland. His mind was sharper and he was more aware of his surroundings. He could reach the shores of Neos before sundown. Marcello had traveled farther than he had thought the day before. His goal was within grasp; he would leave Neos and never again have to stare into that black hole.

Overhead, Rhapthorne's Citadel remained in the sky. Its dark miasma poured out in foul clouds. The Citadel would poison the sky itself, then the earth. Every being of light would be consumed by darkness. Rhapthorne would have the world as his own obedient shadow.

But, if only Marcello had looked up, he would have seen a small golden figure, wings spread in flight, soaring closer and closer to the Citadel's entrance.

* * *

GASPETH. Yay! That only took me...hm, a couple of months to finally post here.

Ah, apologies. It's me, JessicaAlbert13, moonlighting as fanfic ID LadyLora13. Nice to, uh, see ya'll again. You might know me as, uh, that gaming chick who really, really digs Dragon Quest/Dragon Warrior.

At first I wasn't going to post my little Marcello-rific fanfic, but some friends on tumblr encouraged me. Thanks guys! Ya'll finally gave me the extra pep to continue my favorite storyline! You guys on tumblr are the most awesome people in net existence! Dragon Quest comes to my mind before any other work of fiction EVER!

***war cry***

ANYWAYS, yesh, I will be continuing this escapade here. Eventually more characters will be introduced, but for now you'll just have to content yourselves with Marchy here.

I'll be back posting more chapters eventually! The fic will go on! If not on this site, then in my head!

Er, and tumblr. Whatever. Now I simply have to master switching between game world mindsets (damn, demons and aliens).


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